


Ice Baths and Missing Dollars

by orphan_account



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Abuse, Child, Child Abuse, Childhood, Gen, Ice bath, Kid - Freeform, Pre-Series, Season one setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 22:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1835173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When House was a kid, his dad was never the best of fathers. His belief in discipline was more suited to his marine inferiors than to a small, gifted boy. When $3.50 went missing from his wallet, a seemingly insignificant sum of money, his marine experience came into play. Pre-series setting with one scene set during season 1.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Baths and Missing Dollars

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Child abuse theme.
> 
> This is my first House fic, so please be nice!

Greg pressed his back against the wall of the small garden shed, staring down at the book in his lap. Today was not a good day to be Gregory House. His father, who was becoming increasingly absent due to his commitment to his job, was home for the summer, and his mother was out in Florida visiting a friend for a few days. As such, the two House men were home alone together, and tension was building.

“Greg! Get here!”

The words faintly reached Greg, and a conflict came to him. Judging by his father's tone of voice, he was in trouble over something, and ergo it would not be in his best interests to surrender himself to the man. However, if he kept him waiting, whatever was in store for him would surely double, because Mr House had an unfortunate talent (just as his mother did) for telling when Greg was lying - “I didn't hear.” wouldn't cut it. Before the nine year old could make a decision, however, the shed door slammed open and his father stood over him, arms quickly folding and an angry scowl thundering over his face.

“I've been calling you for ten minutes!” Mr House exclaimed.

“I couldn't hear you, being well over a hundred metres from the house and-”

Greg's sarcastic words died on his lips as his father grabbed his arm and yanked him into standing position, his book falling down into the dust.

“First you take money from me and now you lie to me?” Mr House's voice had lowered to a dangerous, dark tone which Greg despised. He was also slightly bewildered – his mother gave him a reasonable allowance which he generally saved rather than spent, he had no need for his father's money.

“I haven't taken your money.” Greg replied with as much disdain as he could muster. “Why would I?”

Glaring at his son for a moment, Mr House suddenly shook him violently by the arm. “Liar! You'll regret lying to me, boy...” his voice was still relatively low and quiet, but his added annoyance at Greg's response had taken away some of the calm rage. Greg, however, felt even more concerned. When his father started to use 'boy' instead of Greg or Gregory, or even son, Greg knew that he was past the point of return. Now he would have to sleep in the shed overnight, in the bitter cold, or perhaps his father would beat him. It wasn't just spanking, not when it left bruises.

* * *

 

The spindly, blue-eyed boy was thus rather confused when his father started to drag him inside. Generally, he would beat him no matter where they were on the property, and he wouldn't let him inside for the rest of the day if he had to sleep outside. Even as they approached one specific room, the idea of what would happen to him didn't enter his mind. His father's job often left him very sore and stiff, particularly after long periods of time in one spot due to his job, or particularly long flights. As such, he had had an ice bath installed in one of the many empty rooms in the vast, lonely house. It was a very modern type, which kept tanks of very cold water underneath it and forced the water through strainers before pumping it through cold pipes to create a slushy, icy concoction to fill the bath. The whole filling process only look a few minutes. Quickly, Mr House locked the room door behind him and pocketed the key, before pushing Greg away so roughly that the boy fell.

“Take your shirt and your trousers off.” Mr House told him sharply. Eyes wide, Greg saw that it was not the time for arguments, and obeyed. Whilst he did so, Mr House turned the device on and turned the dial to 'Coldest', a setting which gave a bath of only eight degrees Celsius.

“Stay here. If you leave the room, I'll spank you and then you'll have a bath.” Mr House spoke simply enough, but his words were enough to make Greg shiver. The words also made Greg realise the fate which awaited him, which perhaps he should have seen before: his father was going to force him to take an ice bath in just his underwear. Mr House had left the room at this point, presumably to fetch a towel, and so Greg shivered from foot to foot, contemplating his options. He could try and leave the room anyway, but his mother wasn't due back for at least two days and there was no way he could hide from his father for all that time in just his underwear. Anyway, even if he did his mother probably wouldn't intervene when his father then doled out an infinitely worse punishment.

* * *

 

Seconds before Mr House re-entered the room, Greg quickly turned the dial down to 'Cold', which would increase the bath temperature to fourteen degrees. Not exactly hot, but a lot warmer than it would have otherwise been. Mr House locked the door as soon as he entered and placed the thinnest, rattiest towel that Greg had ever seen in the house down on a low table. Without speaking, Mr House turned a switch and the flow of cold slush ceased. Then, without warning he grabbed Greg under the arms and dumped him into the depths of the cold bath, ignoring the undignified squawk that the boy emitted. Iciness hit Greg immediately, and he gasped as he felt his body temperature adjust to the awful, biting cold. He felt as if he couldn't breath, and it was so cold it _burned_.

“Dad, let me out, I can't-”

“You can and you will. Next time you won't take my money, and if you do, you'll stay in here for twenty minutes instead of just ten.”

The flight instinct kicked in at that moment, and Greg scrambled out of the bath, landing on the floor with a thump. His naturally pale skin was already greyish with cold and covered in goosebumps, with his underwear soaked through and offering no protection. Mr House let out an angry exclamation and slapped Greg hard across the face, before lifting him back into the bath.

“We'll start again, shall we?” Mr House unpleasantly grinned at his son, ignoring the fact that he had began to cry. Greg rarely cried, but the emotion of it all as well as the pain was getting to him. Here he was, lying in a bath of ice, his body jerking uncontrollably at the coldness, and all for nothing! He hadn't taken the damn money! 

“I didn't take your money!” Greg exclaimed, his voice panicky. “Check my wallet, I don't have any extra money!”

Mr House opened his mouth to respond, but distantly the door bell sounded. 

“Stay in this bath or you'll sleep outside.” Mr House spat disgustedly, glowering at his son. As the numbness of core temperature drop began to creep across Greg's skin, he found the bath becoming less unbearable.

* * *

 

“Hey, bud.”

Larry Johnson. Tall, strapping and coarse, he was an odd friendship match for someone like Mr House, but the two got on like a house on fire. In their work they were in the same group, and so spent long periods of time together.

“Larry, good to see you. I'm kind of busy right now, otherwise I'd invite you right in.” Mr House replied, wiping his damp hands on his jeans. Putting his son back into the bath had meant his hands had gotten into the icy slush.

“That's fine – I just came to give you back the couple of dollars that I borrowed the other day. I totally forgot to ask you, but here they are – no harm, right?”

Mr House nodded, a feeling of dread creeping through him. Three dollars fifty had been missing from his wallet. There, in Larry's palm, were three dollar bills and two quarters. “Thanks, Larry. It's fine, of course.”

“See ya soon then, John.”

Mr House nodded once more, the money crumpling tightly in his fist.

* * *

 

When Mr House re-entered the bathroom, he was gratified to see that his son had stayed in the ice bath – evidently, the discipline was beginning to pay off. There were another four minutes until the promised ten minutes were up, and there was no way Mr House was letting his son out early. That'd make him seem weak. Looking at Greg's flushed cheek from the slap in contrast to his pale, shivery body, however, he felt like just about the biggest bastard on earth. It was obviously a useful disciplinary tool if Greg was this quiet and obedient, and one he would definitely use again...but on this occasion, the kid hadn't deserved it.

“Time, you can get out now.”

Greg was out like a shot, wrapping the towel tightly around himself and removing his soaking underwear. When Mr House opened the door to the ice room, his son stumbled out, legs seemingly seized up by the cold, before entering his bedroom, the towel slipping to reveal skin so pale it was almost translucent and a few patches of skin which looked bluish from cold.

Little did the man know, the punishment which he planned to introduce as a regular one would become the boy's greatest fear, at least for a while.

* * *

 

“Dr House, you have an extreme fever and it's not dropping. You knew before we did that you have the new strain of superbug, and so far the only effective way of lowering the temperature of patients is an ice bath.”

Grumpy, skinny Doctor House had checked himself into the clinic before the symptoms even really seemed to appear, and the other guys had been rather reluctant to accept his claims that he had contracted a horrible new superbug until his temperature suddenly spiked at 105 and he began puking at the ingestion of even a glass of water. He was being treated by a new doctor to the clinic, one who was drafted in to make up for the doctors who were dropping to the bug, and he didn't like him. Smarmy idiot. Generally, House's policy had been to ignore the doctor and treat himself as best he could despite his intense physical weakness, but the words 'ice bath' made him react.

“I'm not having an ice bath.” House simply replied, not bothering to listen to the protests of the doctor. “End of. It's not happening.”

“Dr House, we can easily file that your high temperature is causing delirium and impairing your judgement and force you to have an ice bath. Surely it'd be easier if you just agreed to the treatment?”

“Dr whatever-your-name-is, based on the sudden increase in my temperature and the data of the other patients, I am fairly certain that my temperature will naturally drop within two to four days. I do not wish to have an ice bath, and I know that I am right.”

The doctor folded his arms at precisely the same second as House, and the two doctors faced each other stand-offishly for a moment before Doctor Cuddy happened to pass by.

“Is there a problem here?” her pleasant voice dropped in, eyes focusing on House's petulant expression. He stared right back at her.

“My doctor here is trying to force me to take unnecessary treatment. I am capable of making my own damn decision, and I don't want the treatment!”

Dr Cuddy looked between the two: Dr Smith was well qualified, but had no natural talent. Dr House was well qualified and oozed natural talent. She was inclined to believe Dr House.

“It's not like I'm prescribing drugs to him – I simply suggested an ice bath to reduce his temperature, as it's the only thing which has worked for other patients.” Dr Smith replied, exasperated. “You talk sense into him!”

With that, he was gone.

“House?”

House looked up at Dr Cuddy, expression still mixed between childish and steely. “What?”

“Why don't you want an ice bath? Surely you can see that medically, it is the best option you have.”

Dr House nodded. “Certainly. However, I decline it on the grounds of psychological trauma.”

Cuddy observed House for a second, and knew at once that his statement was not an overreaction. It was his genuine reason for declining.

“May I ask why it would cause psychological trauma?”

“No.” House shortly replied. “You can tell that idiot that I'm not having an ice bath, though.”

38.5 hours later, House's fever broke by itself.

 


End file.
